


Celebration

by alleged (alleged_grey_warden)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenris has resting murder face, Fluff, Humor, M/M, New Year's Eve, it's Act 1 and he's still letting down his guard let him live Varric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleged_grey_warden/pseuds/alleged
Summary: In which the gang has a New Year's celebration, everyone gets drunk, kissing occurs, and Fenris is happy. No, really.





	Celebration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhube/gifts).



> I wanted to write something for the people who had reviewed every chapter of my last fic, [Ardor Fictus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9422927/chapters/21331484). This is the first request! 
> 
> The prompt:  
> "It's the end of the year and the gang celebrate by getting drunk. Feeling unusually elated, high on booze and good cheer, one or other of the broody duo finds the other outside looking at the stars and pulls them down for a kiss. Recipient should be surprised, but not unreceptive."

Fenris had honestly expected a fight when Aveline knocked on the mansion door. She’d been fully armed, her expression tight as though she were about to announce one of their friends had been dismembered.

“Come quickly,” she’d said. “Hawke wants everyone at the Hanged Man. Stat.”

When he had arrived in full armor to find the place decked out for a Year’s End celebration, everyone dressed comfortably and ready to pop open bottles of champagne he’d felt… embarrassed.

“Why did you not tell me this was a party?” he growled at Aveline.

“We told her not to,” Varric butt in cheerfully. “We figured you might not show up if you didn’t think there’d be any bloodshed.”

Fenris grumbled, about to object, but Isabela distracted him by tossing him a bottle.

“Cheers!” she said. “Open the bottle and its contents are yours!”

He felt slightly miffed by the deception and their mischaracterization of him as a bloodthirsty grump, but he was not one to turn down free wine.

He had never been to a celebration like this before. Year’s End was not a Tevinter holiday, so he’d never attended one with Danarius. And furthermore, he had no memory of attending a celebration in which he could, well, celebrate for himself. As a result, he found himself a little unsure. He sat in the corner nursing his drink, not participating much in the proceedings but watching with wide eyes.

Merrill and Hawke quickly ended up as the only ones dancing, both drunk, Hawke all too enthusiastically stomping out the motions of a Dalish dance Merrill was trying to teach them. Isabela and Aveline were participating in some kind of Ferelden drinking game—not much was said, they simply stared at each other intensely while alternately taking shots.

“What is the goal of this game?” Fenris asked. “How do you win?”

“The goal is to kill each other,” Varric said nonchalantly. “You win when the other player dies of alcohol poisoning.”

Anders slipped out subtly in the commotion after chatting with Varric for a little while, perhaps feeling as out of place as Fenris. Fenris took note, but before he could think much of it Hawke had reached over to drag him over to join Merrill’s drunken dance lesson.

The dance lessons ceased abruptly when Varric called him over to start a game of Wicked Grace. By that time, Fenris had found himself feeling strangely light. It was as though there were bubbles that had risen to his head, making him a little dizzy. But in a good way.

Still, when he stumbled over to the table, Isabela gave him a once over and crossed her arms, head lolling drunkenly to the side.

“Someone looks like he’s not a fan of parties,” she slurred.

Fenris blinked. “I… what?”

“You haven’t cracked a single smile all night,” she said. “Varric, isn’t that right?”

Fenris tried to slowly recount the activity of his facial muscles for the past hour or so. Before he could contest this, Varric was popping in.

“If the enormous death clouds surrounding his broody head have let in any light, I haven’t seen it,” Varric said.

Aveline frowned. “Are you alright Fenris?” they asked. “If you aren’t having much fun, then—”

“No,” Fenris said. “I am having fun.”

But for some reason, everyone at the table burst into laughter at his pronouncement. Isabela slammed her face on the table and started smacking it. Varric howled and wiped tears away from his eyes. Aveline showed the most self control, but Fenris noticed her wiping away a smirk.

“What?” he asked.

“Maker, your  _ face,”  _ Isabela squealed. She crossed her arms again and put on the most exaggerated frown and imitated a deep throaty voice. “’I am having fun,’” she mimicked.

Fenris felt his good mood instantly disappear, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Now, now Isabela. Be nice.” Varric chided. “Anyway, it was more like, ‘ _ I am having fun. Also, I hate you all, I was a slave!’” _

Fenris crossed his arms. He heard Aveline let out a scoff that sounded vaguely like she was trying to cover up a laugh. The traitor. He glared at her, and she immediately looked guilty.

“Look,” Aveline said. “I’m sorry Fenris, but that’s… not what happiness looks like. Your face, that is.”

“What  _ does  _ it look like then?” he snapped.

“Like that!” Isabela said, gesturing behind Fenris. He turned, and saw why Hawke and Merrill had not joined them at the table. It seemed Hawke had dipped Merrill into a kiss. A long kiss. Their faces were both flushed, and Merrill was making delighted humming noises. Fenris watched for several seconds, feeling a strange wistfulness stirring inside. He turned back, and felt his face form a pout.

“But I am happy,” he insisted.

They laughed again. This time, he huffed.

“I am serious,” he said. “I’m—I’m elated. Ecstatic.”

This prompted another round of giggles.

“I’ll show you all,” he said, and stood up.

It was then that he realized he had possibly ingested more alcohol than he’d accounted for. His grip on the ground felt rather shaky, and the room spun into a mess of colors. He blinked.

“I’m gonna—” he started, looking between all of them, and then rethought his plan. “No. You are all—all  _ so mean.” _

More giggles. He swung around and stomped for the door.

“Broody! Where are you going?!”

“You’re all terrible,” he shouted back. “I’m not kissing any of you!”

“You’re not…?” Isabela took a moment. “Wait, what?”

But he was already out the door.

\--

It was cold, but Anders was still relieved to be outside. He’d felt increasingly bitter and alone as the festivities had progressed—sudden memories of his time with Karl bubbling up hadn’t made things better. Besides, everyone had been too engrossed in their activities to spend any time on him. Everyone, that is, except for Fenris, and the moment he’d even thought of trying to strike up a conversation the elf had given him a withering death glare.

Maker, if looks could kill, Fenris wouldn’t  _ need  _ lyrium brands.

Anyway, Anders decided, the fresh air was nice. He needed a bit of air to clear his head. And despite Kirkwall normally being enveloped in what Anders was sure was poisonous death-smog, the sky was clear. The stars were twinkling. Watching them, picking out the constellations… it was one of the joys of being free from the tower. Back in Ferelden, he’d gone years without seeing the sky…

He started to feel Justice grumbling inside him at the thought of Kinloch Hold. Best not to think of it too much, or he’d whip them both up into a fury. Maker, it was so hard to  _ enjoy  _ things these days.

He hadn’t realized how lost in thought he was until he heard the chinking of armor behind him. He shot up immediately, whirled around, and saw Fenris storming in his direction. Still in full armor. Shoulders hunched.

Anders looked around. But there was no one else there that Fenris might be headed toward. “Fenris?” he asked nervously. “Is something…?”

Fenris had gotten close enough for Anders to catch the strong reek of wine. In the dim light he could just barely make out Fenris’s face and  _ sweet Andraste  _ he looked ready to rip someone’s heart out. He didn’t even answer Anders’s half-question but just kept stomping toward him like he was on a mission.

_ Shit,  _ Anders thought abruptly.  _ I’m dead, aren’t I? _

He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and opened his mouth to plead a case for his life. Before he could though, Fenris had snatched him by the coat and in a flash Anders felt something bang painfully against his teeth, and—

Oh.

Oh _ fuck. _

It seemed Fenris had pulled him down to yell at him, and had ended up bumping their faces together. Anders stiffened. Fenris seemed as surprised as he was, because he hadn’t moved. Not even to jerk away. Instead he stayed, hands still gripping Anders’s coat, their lips awkwardly pressed together.

No way was Anders going to survive this. No way.

He started to pull back slowly, hoping to minimize the damage. Fenris let go of his coat then, but then suddenly his hands were in Ander’s hair, twisting roughly, yanking him closer and—

_ Wait. _

Anders let out a muffled cry as he realized what this was. Half in surprise that it was happening at all, and half because—was this  _ really  _ Fenris’s idea of a kiss? Really? Had he never kissed anyone before in his life?

Oh well, Anders sighed, if you wanted something done right, you really had to do it yourself.

He ran his hands up Fenris’s back, felt the elf gasp, and leaned in to deepen the kiss.

\--

“Oh shit,” Varric said. “That’s Anders out there.”

There was a shared look of horror.

“Fenris, wait!” Isabela called out the door. “You don’t have to—oops, he already went for it.”

The group peeked out the door, and contemplated the scene before them in silence. Well, relative silence. The moment Anders seemed to realize what was going on there were some  _ noises.  _ And then when they broke apart—was that a chuckle? From  _ Fenris? _

“Well,” Varric said, clapping his hands together. “I guess that all worked out for the best.”

Isabela leaned back. “I guess it did.”

Hawke and Merrill were still going at it in the background. Isabela folded her arms.

“Well now I just feel left out,” she pouted. “Hey, man-hands—”           

“Don’t even think about it.”

 


End file.
